The Victoria's Secret catwalk show has nothing to do with fashion

It is the most expensive catwalk show ever staged, but it has almost nothing to do with fashion. They're not really into irony at Victoria's Secret, so the joke gets a little lost in the dazzle of white teeth and diamond-encrusted bras and paparazzi cameras, but it's quite funny, when you think about it.

All the signifiers of a fashion show are in place when Victoria's Secret stages its annual extravaganza. The model line-up always includes high-end Paris fashion week names (Cara Delevingne and Jourdan Dunn have featured in recent years) and the show is styled by Sophia Neophitou, who as stylist and collaborator to Roland Mouret and Antonio Berardi and British Fashion Council ambassador is an undisputed powerhouse of high fashion taste. The 6in high heels are designed for the occasion by Nicholas Kirkwood, the talented young shoe designer who was just snapped up by LVMH.

But there's something missing. Call me old-fashioned, but I sort of think the absence of clothes is a dealbreaker as far as fashion goes. At the Victoria's Secret show, instead of clothes, the models wear underwear and massive fluffy angel wings. I've been a fashion editor for 15 years, I've seen all kinds of crazy accessories anointed a fashion must-have, but massive fluffy angel wings? Nope. Not a catwalk trend. Never.

I know what you're thinking: it's about sex, stupid. Well, here's the thing: I don't see that Victoria's Secret is really about sex, either. The presentation of the Victoria's Secret Angels, to give the catwalk models their faintly creepy official title is look-but-don't-touch in the extreme. Like a very grand ballgown, or a bridal dress with a train, the wings form a kind of exclusion zone, making it physically difficult to get close. Also, even if you did find a woman dressed in an oversized Angel Gabriel costume sexy, which seems a little dubious, you'd have difficulty getting intimately acquainted. The wings Alessandra Ambrosia wore in the 2011 show were gold-plated antique copper decorated with 105,000 Swarovski crystals. They weighed almost 10kg. There is as much neon, crystal, and metallic on the VS runway as there is satin and maribou. The VS catwalk cipher might be look-at-me, but it's hard to argue that it is come-and-get-me. The name Victoria's Secret was chosen, in 1977, to set a mood-music of sobriety and respectability, and that wholesomeness is still there, despite the acres of flesh on show.

When you visit the store, you notice how little of the product is sexy in the sense of being designed for sex. Much of the shopfloor is dominated by bras bulked up by gel or foam padding. In these, a woman may send a sexual signal when dressed, but she will need to undress alone. The vast "Pink" sub-brand of pyjamas, sweatshirts and logoed vests sells an aesthetic of the tween sleepover, not booty call. But there is no doubt it works: last year, sales at Victoria's Secret totalled almost £4bn.

The VS brand has very little to do with actual sex, and everything to do with sexiness as a status symbol. The brand has as much to do with women looking at other women, as it does with men looking at women: for every 17-year-old boy ogling the model's arses, there is a 16-year-old girl staring at their abs. VS deliberately emphasises the intense competition amongst models to appear on the catwalk; among the most "liked" posts of the endless Instagram photos of Angels-in-training are those which feature the models in boxing gloves, punching their way to a catwalk turn that could earn them a seven figure paycheque.

The Victoria's Secret show takes the cheerleader tradition, and removes the boring old football game. Sportsmanship is old hat; the 21st century is all about being hot. This is the Superbowl, for those gifted with lovely hair, beautiful bottoms and superhuman endurance for juice fasting. These days you can be a champion – an Angel, a higher being – just by being sexy. That's a trend, for sure. But it's got nothing to do with fashion, so don't blame us.